


Quill the Living Planet

by Triscribe



Series: Guardians Shenanigans [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Next Generation, Peter becomes a Living Planet, Quillians are even crazier than Terrans, and does a really great job at it, and next and next and next..., and that's saying something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 04:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12335487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triscribe/pseuds/Triscribe
Summary: Hundreds of years after the rest of Guardians are dead and gone, Peter Quill remains. He decides to give being a planet a try.





	Quill the Living Planet

Rocket was the first to go, his fur long turned to a mix of white and pale grey. Rather than admit to the growing weakness of his limbs and eyes, the feisty little bugger went out in a blaze of glory, blowing up himself and a ship full of Skrull slaver-scientists. They gave him a Ravager funeral, figuring he’d appreciate explosions made in his honor.

Drax went next. It surprised everyone - they thought he would go down in the same manner as Rocket, fighting to his last. Instead, he slipped away in his sleep one night, found the next morning with a content smile on his face. They burned his body, and scattered the ashes on his deserted homeworld, to rest with his wife and daughter.

Mantis died a decade later, helping to ease the passing of others in a refugee hospital on a planet caught up in civil war. With the others fighting on the battlefield, she had no one to tell her to stop, to take a break. Instead, she absorbed as much pain from the fatally wounded as possible, until she just... Stopped. They buried her on a quiet planet the next star system over, one where flowers tinkled like bells in the wind.

Gamora joined them after many years, injured while guiding escaped slaves to safety on a Kree colony world. Her body’s modifications only helped so much, allowing her to keep pushing on long after she should’ve stopped to rest. By the time she collapsed, there was nothing more that could be done to repair the damage. They gave her a traditional funeral of her people, on Zen-Whoberi’s remaining moon.

Nebula faded within the same year - she simply stopped giving her own mods the meticulous care she had in days past, which meant the effects of old wounds soon caught up with her. They put her to rest next to her sister.

It was several decades before the next death, that of Merdu Udonta Quill, Peter and Gamora’s son. He left behind a Terran wife and seven children: Ditha, Yon, Lini, Hethe, Ket, Tis, and Neba. They, along with his father and walking plant of an uncle, summoned the one hundred Ravager Clans for a Captain’s Funeral.

A few centuries later, it was finally Groot’s turn. He’d grown into a huge form, bigger than the one he’d had when the Guardians all first met - one capable of holding up a whole village’s worth of terrified people as the ground beneath shuddered and spewed molten rock. Evacuation ships were able to get all the civilians out of harm’s way by the time he finally collapsed, grinning at his victory. There was nothing left to give a funeral to, but that didn’t stop the planet’s entire population from throwing an annual garden festival in his honor.

After that, Peter was more alone than he’d felt in ages. His descendants were scattered across the star lanes, some aware of their relation to him, many not. A few galactic governments, those of Xandar and Terra and so on, remembered his name, enough to be polite and welcoming when he showed up within their borders. Most places, though, had forgotten who he was; there were only legends among spacefarers of the ‘Starlord,’ who wandered from system to system, searching for the family who’d left him behind.

Part of him laughed at the irony.

Another part contemplated how to destroy himself, and so rejoin his loved ones, wherever they were.

The greatest part of his mind, however, wondered what it would be like to be a planet.

So, he found a solar system with a young sun, picked an orbit just close enough to it for a decent amount of warmth, and got to work. It took a long time to build a decent-sized shell around himself, and longer to sort out what features he wanted on his surface and where to put them. By the time settlers began to arrive, though (grandchildren of his grandchildren’s grandchildren, called by the songs sent out to every corner of the galaxy), Peter was ready. Planet Quill was ready.

There were two large bodies of saltwater: the Draxian Ocean (situated right on the equator, so the currents were always warm) and the Nebula Sea (further to the north, where it seasonally froze over, but was always lit from within by glowing kelp). Across the continents were numerous freshwater lakes and rivers, each named for either one of Peter’s grandkids or a Ravager who’d been decent to him growing up on the _Eclector._ They all flowed together into the massive Merdu River, which continued on down to the shore of the Draxian. In the very center of the ocean was the Island of Mantis, where the ground was soft enough for bare feet, every tree bore sweet fruit, and the pink flowers all tinkled like bells in the wind.

There was also the Forest of Groot, full of trees with friendly faces, which produced glowing spores every night and little white flowers every spring. Just south of it was the Rocket Desert: by day, an unfriendly mass of dusty scrubland and deep ravines, full of downright hostile cacti covered in sharp, black and brown bristles. At night, however, all manner of small, curious creatures came out of their dens, water welled up from depressions in the ground, and electric sparks danced along the edges of dangerous drop-offs as a warning. Even the bristles of the cacti drooped, becoming soft to touch and revealing tiny, bright orange flowers which produced bitter seed pods that could be brewed into an invigorating drink.

In the south there was a great wide plain, the Gamoran Grassland, covered in pale green grass with silver veins running through the stalks. Here and there grew flowers of red and pink petals, which parted when picked to produce some lyric of a lively song. To the north were the Yondu Mountains, made of a vibrant blue stone and capped by groves of a tall, bright red reed plant that whistled even when the wind didn’t blow.

Nestled in the very center of the mountain range was the City of Meredithen, the planet’s capital, a place that practically glowed from how much hope and happiness lived there. Further away was the settlement of Kraglintown, where members of the Ravager Clans and the sorts of folk who catered to them were always welcome - provided they didn’t break anything or any _one,_ of course.

The skies were filled with birds of orange and blue feathers, called Milanos, that soared endlessly through the clouds and were thought to bring good luck to any ship they decided to dance around.

Underground was an expansive network of crystal-lit tunnels, large enough for multiple lanes of traffic and connecting every settlement and city sector, with more than a few hotels, pit stops, and mushroom farms along the way.

Planet Quill became haven and home to many, who developed a culture blended from their own pasts as well as what their protector, Peter Starlord, shared with them from his own. Song was a favored form of subtle (and not-so-subtle) communication, between lovers, rivals, neighbors and so on. The Walkmen, a group made up of people of all genders, were honored performers and storytellers, who came in two kinds: the generalists, who could work in any situation, and the specialists, who would attend events of their field, such as birthday parties, coming-of-age celebrations, weddings, festivals, or funerals. They were as close to a Priesthood of Quill that the Starlord would allow.

Though he avoided becoming mixed up with his people’s political climate too often, there was one law that Peter insisted upon: that all citizens of the planet from age eight and up learn at least one form of combat, be it hand-to-hand, with a specific form of weaponry, or from within an armed craft. As such, the first and only time an invading force entered the airspace above Meredithen, they were summarily handed their asses and kicked back into space. Every other government in the galaxy took note, and the Quillian homeworld was not bothered again.

Had he kept his consciousness in the planet’s core more often than not, there was every possibility Peter would have become a true god to his people, revered and honored by those who lived upon his surface. Instead, he made sure to constantly walk among them in his human form, wearing heavy boots, work pants, a grimy t-shirt, and old red leather trench coat; cracking jokes, sharing stories and songs, and making sure to regularly visit Kraglintown to hang out with visiting Ravagers. Everyone he spent time with, he insisted either address him as Peter or Grandpa, depending on whether or not he could sense they were a Starling, a descendant of his. More than once, he’d been mistaken for a particularly over-the-top Walkman - when corrected, those people usually tried to make up for their error by praising him, often citing their admiration of his heroics with the other Guardians eons earlier. Peter had a standard response to that: “Nah, we weren’t heroic - we were losers who just happened to be in the right place at the right time, with enough collective decency in us to do the right thing. Which, really, is all anyone can hope to do.”

It was well-known throughout the civilized universe that one did not mess with travelling Quillians, because they were even crazier than the average Terran: pulling insane stunts to save the lives of complete strangers, and taking down jackasses who threatened honest folk, from street bullies to intergalactic terrorists. They were a world of lunatics, and proud of it.

Eventually, long after Planet Quill was first formed, when the sun it orbited was no longer young, Peter met one of his many-times-great-grandchildren who possessed the powers of a Celestial. Her skin was dark green; her hair was a blend of shimmering blues; her eyes were solid purple all the way through.

Her name was Yondi, of the Neb-Quill line.

It wasn’t long before people began to call her the Starchild.

In her youth, she spent a lot of time learning from Peter. As an adult, she roamed the universe, battled some monsters, stopped an apocalypse or three, even served as a crewmember with about half of the Ravager Clans. When she felt ready to finally settle down, Yondi returned to her Grandpa’s planet. She went down to the very center, where his core consciousness rested, and carefully, cautiously... Took Over.

Planet Quill, overall, suffered a few minor earthquakes, a temporary slowing of its orbit. Afterward, though, the people continued to have a Celestial wander amongst them, the Starchild smiling and singing and keeping watch over her own descendants.

As for Peter, well, he finally got to move on: to endure shoulder-smacks from Kraglin and his original Ravager friends. Lean against Groot’s bark; rub Rocket’s fur. Press foreheads with Mantis; offer Nebula a simple nod. Get his ribs bruised by a hug from Drax; have the pain disappear after kissing Gamora. Exchange hugs and grins with his son, daughter-in-law, and seven grandkids.

Embrace his mom.

And of course, smack Yondu, call him a jerk, and then wrap his arms around the blue doofus as tightly as possible.

After that, he sat down and told them all about the cool shit he’d made back on Planet Quill.


End file.
